


Hitters get hit on

by YvonneSilver



Category: Leverage
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash, Whump, alternative title, hitters hitting each other, hitters hitting on each other, hitters hitting things, punch punch fall in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-22
Updated: 2016-08-22
Packaged: 2018-08-09 13:54:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7804402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YvonneSilver/pseuds/YvonneSilver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Quinn showed up at the brew pub, Eliot knew he was going to be trouble. He just didn't expect this specific kind of trouble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hitters get hit on

Eliot almost overlooked him. That kind of thing didn't happen to him often; his job and often his life depended on his observational skills. But here in the brewpub, he'd allowed his vigilance to slack. Not by much, not by enough to miss him entirely, but enough to be worrisome. Eliot was rushing in late after a job, already tying a bandana around his hair and striding straight on through to the kitchen when he saw him. He stopped mid-stride and turned around slowly. There, sitting calmly at a table at the window as if he were a regular, was Mr. Quinn.

He was sharply dressed in a dark-grey suit and his blond hair neatly tied back into a half pony-tail. In fact, he looked so much like any normal businessman it was a testament to his talents that Eliot hadn’t missed him altogether. When he saw Eliot, Quinn put down his menu and leaned back in his chair. “Eliot.“ He said in his sing-song voice. "I hear the salmon here is magnificent.”

Eliot reacted like a bull to a red rag. He stomped right up to Quinn’s table, slammed his hand down and got right up into the other hitter’s face. “Whatever the job,  whatever it is you’re here to settle, settle it somewhere else,” he hissed. “Name the time and the place and I’ll be there, but do NOT drag my patrons into this.” This was his home, his pride and joy (though he'd never admit that to Hardison), and he'd be damned if he let other hitters or thieves taint it.

“Hmm.” Quinn said, tipping his chair back slightly to give himself some space. “No job.” He said with an annoying calmness. “Just honestly here for the food. Unless you’re going to refuse service?” He raised an eyebrow.

Eliot growled. He’d like nothing more than to throw Quinn out of his establishment, but he could already feel the eyes of the other customers on him, and he knew he couldn’t afford to cause a scene, not without damaging the pub’s good name. Eliot ground his teeth. He glared at Quinn for a couple more seconds, but Quinn seemed completely unfazed. Finally, Eliot straightened up. “Fine.” He said, rubbing his hands together. He was about to walk off, but at the last moment squatted down beside Quinn’s chair. “But if I catch a hint of trouble, the slightest whiff of a con,” he whispered angrily, “I’ll fillet you.” With that, he straightened up and walked off.

“The fillet sounds lovely Eliot.” Quinn called after him. “Thank you!” He grinned to himself and focused on the menu again.

 

 

It took Eliot almost thirty minutes to calm down enough to cook. He had to restart a basic béchamel sauce twice. Only when one of his braver sous-chefs told him he was looking ‘more fearsome than usual chef’ did he take the time a step back and realize what he was doing. He was cooking with anger. He couldn’t focus on his craft knowing there was someone… someone  _like him_  out there. No matter what Quinn said, he had to have an ulterior motive for coming here, and despite being on home ground - no  _because_ he was on home ground - Eliot felt off his game. “I need to make a call.” He called to his second chef, wiping his hands on a tea towel.

 

Parker wasn’t happy to be called in so soon after finishing a con, but she showed up anyway. Knowing that someone would keep an eye on Quinn calmed Elliot down enough to cook properly, and the rest of the dinner shift passed surprisingly normal.

About halfway through the shift, Amy came up to him as he was frying vegetables in a large wok. "Chef? The gentleman at table four sends his compliments.”

“Table four huh? AH!” He’d been a little careless while transferring vegetables to the plate, spilling some of them onto his fingers. He put the wok back onto the stove and transferred the plate to the meat station before heading over to the tap to cool the burn. “What else is he doing?” He asked Amy as he ran cold water over his left hand.

“What else?” Amy said, looking confused. “Nothing. He’s having dinner. Reading a book.” Her brow furrowed. “Eliot? What’s going on?”

“Nothing.” Eliot answered gruffly, shutting off the tap. “Parker’s keeping an eye on him. You just focus on your work. And when I’m in the kitchen, it’s Chef.”

“Yes Chef.” Amy said, but he could hear the doubt in her voice, and she cast a glance over her shoulder at him before leaving the kitchen.

Eliot wiped his brow. He’d be glad when this night was over and he could figure out what Quinn wanted.

 

About an hour later, Parker snuck into the kitchen. Eliot immediately passed the sauce-pan he was holding to the nearest sous-chef and walked over.

“What’s he doing?”

“He left. Swept the table for bombs or bugs. No dice.” Parker answered in clipped tones. “Maybe he really did come here for the food. You make a great pasta.”

“Yeah right.” Eliot grumbled, entirely unconvinced. Quinn had to have an ulterior motive for coming precisely to this pub. Parker shrugged. He could tell she was tired and really just wanted to get home. “Well if he’s gone, there’s no reason for you to stay. Get some rest.”

He could practically see the weight lifting off her shoulders. “Call me if something’s up.” She said, before hurrying out of the kitchen.

 

Knowing that there was no longer an internationally wanted criminal in his restaurant should’ve helped Eliot relax a little more, but he remained on edge. The fact that nothing had happened did little to put his mind at ease. He kept waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Yet the rest of the evening passed smoothly. It wasn’t a busy night, which was lucky because Eliot really wasn’t on top of his game. He was restless and unfocused, passing from station to station but not really doing much. Finally the evening drew to a close, the last guests left ,and the restaurant shut its doors. Glad to finally have some peace and quiet, Eliot sent the rest of the staff home and did the clean-up himself. He always insisted on keeping the stations clean during the shift, so it wasn't too much trouble.

 

 

The other shoe finally dropped as Eliot was taking out the trash. It was a perfectly laid trap, and it might’ve worked too if Eliot hadn’t been on high alert. If they’d caught him unawares as he was coming out of his shift, tired from both his work and the job, he might’ve missed the two men loitering at the entrance of the alley, or the glint off of the rifle in the second story window across from him, or the sound of boots scraping behind the kitchen door when someone stepped away as he opened it.

As it was, Eliot had been on edge all evening, waiting to spring into action, and this time, being on home ground was actually an advantage. His keen senses picked up the abnormalities, and he reacted immediately. He slammed the door further open, earning him a high-pitched yelp as it smacked into the person behind it. He flung the bags of trash he was carrying at the two loiterers and without checking to see if they hit, crossed over to the other side of the alley to stay out of range of the sniper. One of the trash bags broke on impact, showering the shorter of the two with green waste. Eliot cursed inwardly; he knew he’d be the one who’d have to clean it up later. 

The other (male, white, dark hoodie, shiv stuck down his left boot, army-knife in his right hand) swatted the bag aside and began advancing towards Eliot. Eliot wasn’t worried; the man’s stance was all wrong, and he’d have to come in close to use that knife, and he knew by that time he could easily disarm him. The man’s partner had dropped his gun and was still searching through the trash. No threat from his left then.

 

To Eliot’s right, the kitchen door slammed shut, revealing a very pissed-off Asian woman rubbing a fresh bruise on her forehead. She was going to be more of a problem. A lot more of a problem. She was holding a gun with a silencer, and she seemed to know how to use it. A range weapon. Eliot knew he couldn’t move away from the wall without making himself a prime target for the sniper upstairs, and he couldn’t disarm this woman from where he was standing either.

Eliot’s brain seemed to freeze up as he realized he had no more options. He was always three steps ahead, keeping track of all his opponents, but he hadn’t been quick enough today. He hadn’t been ready. 

She aimed her weapon at his chest. ‘A leftie’, Eliot noticed idly.

 

At that moment, something clattered onto the cobblestones between them; a sniper rifle. They both looked down, momentarily distracted, but Eliot recovered from his surprise first, using the distraction to jump forward and grab the woman’s left wrist to turn the weapon away from himself. A shot went off when she squeezed the trigger in surprise, a soft wheeze followed by a chink as the bullet ricocheted off the street stones. The knife-wielder at the start of the alley shouted something, and out of the corner of his eye Eliot saw him duck away.

Then his attention was back on his attacker, who had recovered quickly, twisting her arm in an attempt to wrench free. Eliot tightened his grip and dragged her back towards the wall, just to be safe, although if the sniper hadn’t been taken care of he’d have been dead by now anyway. He slammed her back against the wall, pinning down her gun-arm. She yelped, but refused to let go of the weapon. A second bullet whizzed past him. She twisted around and threw a punch with her free arm. A dull pain blossomed in his left side, but she hadn’t been able to get in a good swing from where she was pressed against the wall.

Just as Eliot was wondering how best to neutralize her before the other two attackers caught up, there was a flurry of grey-white movement at the far end of the alley, then a dull thud. Someone had jumped down from the neighboring building. Realizing he'd have to move fast to avoid being attacked from two sides, Eliot took a risk. When the woman turned her head towards the sound, Eliot released her gun arm, and readied himself. When she turned to face him again, Eliot threw a well-aimed punch. His fist hit her jaw with a satisfying crack, knocking her out  cold.

 

Eliot side-stepped her before she’d finished collapsing, squaring off against the new-comer, who was just straightening up. It was Quinn. He was still wearing his white dress-shirt and grey pants, though he’d lost the jacket. For a split second, Eliot felt absurdly underdressed with his messy hair and his dirty apron. Then his anger flared up.

“You!” Eliot spat, balling his fists.

“Look out!” Quinn yelped. He jumped forward, dragging both of them behind the dumpster just as a shot rang out.

Both hitters scrambled for cover, pressing their back against the dumpster; Quinn squeezed into the corner against the wall, Eliot on his right. 

“That was close.” Quinn grinned. He peeked over the edge of the dumpster, but ducked back down when a shot went over his head. “Yeah, so. Situation. Shortie’s got us covered with the gun, and Big-guy is on his way to gut us.”

“I’m working on it.” Eliot growled. He had his back to Quinn, staring at the opposite wall and straining to hear the footsteps of their approaching adversary. In combat, you take your allies wherever you can get them, and currently Quinn seemed to be on his side. He’d save his anger for the ones who were actively trying to kill him.

The dumpster echoed loudly as a bullet ricocheted off it. Neither hitter flinched, though Eliot winced at the sudden loud sound. The neighbors were going to be asking difficult questions again, Eliot thought. Then he shook his head. That was not the problem he should be focusing on right now.

“Work a little faster.” Quinn advised.

“Shut up.” Eliot sat up on his haunches, careful to stay under cover. He began to untie his apron.

“Really?” Quinn said. “Now? Eliot, I’m flattered but now’s really not the time.” Another shot drowned out the last part of his sentence.

“I said shut up.” Eliot stuffed the apron into Quinn’s hands. “When I say ‘now’, distract the shooter with this.”

“What are you going to do?”

Eliot glared at him over his shoulder. “Defend what’s mine.”

 

Eliot crouched at the edge of the dumpster, as far forward as he could get without being seen. There, he retrieved the brick in front of the dumpster’s left wheel, holding the thing in place with his free hand. He closed his eyes, and listened. He tried not to get distracted by Quinn shuffling into position behind him, focusing only on the soft echo from the alleyway. In his mind’s eye, he could almost see the familiar space behind the dumpster, the two goons slowly nearing their hiding place, the short one further back, but the knife-wielder advancing closer. Five steps. Four steps. Eliot nodded his head. Three, two one.

“Now!” He whispered harshly. He didn’t even turn to see if Quinn would follow his instructions. With his left hand, he pushed the dumpster forward, ramming it into Big-guy’s shin. Eliot jumped forward, landing in a roll, keeping his body as small a target as possible as he left cover. Two shots rang out.

 

Then, Eliot was on his feet. The shooter had aimed at the waving fabric (he cursed inwardly; Sophie'd given him that apron), and Eliot was unscathed. He needed only a split second to aim before he flung his brick at the shooter. It connected with its target, sending the gun flying. The shooter yelped, but Eliot had already turned back to the other attacker. He wrapped an arm around the man’s neck, grabbed his own wrist, and trapped him in an expert choke-hold. Over the man’s shoulder, he saw a flash of steel, and he braced himself for the cut of the knife.  Eight seconds to knock him out, Eliot knew, he had to hold on for eight seconds no matter what.

But the cut never came. Instead, Quinn’s flushed face appeared, and there was a dull snap and then the clatter of the knife on the cobblestones. Eliot heard Quinn stalk off towards the last attacker, as the man he was holding scrabbled empty-handedly at the chokehold. Eliot counted off the seconds, and soon he felt the man go limp.

Eliot dragged the unconscious adversary to the back of the alley and left him lying next to his partner. He looked up when he heard Quinn say "Scat." and saw the last figure flee the alley. He dusted of his hands and approached Quinn, who was walking towards him with a huge grin on his face.

“Whoo! That was quite the fight!”

 

Eliot’s kick caught Quinn completely by surprise, knocking the wind out of him. Quinn stumbled back, coughing and wheezing, all air knocked out of him. If Eliot hadn’t been holding back, it could’ve been much worse.

“Did you bring them?” Eliot shouted, squaring up. His adrenaline was still pumping, and he was furious. “Did you bring armed killers to _my_ restaurant?”

Quinn slowly straightened, making sure not to make any threatening moves. “Me?” He pressed one hand dramatically against his chest. “Eliot, I would never.” He looked contemplative for a moment. “Well, to be fair, I probably would, but if it's any consolation; I didn’t.”

This time, he saw Eliot’s fist coming. He side-stepped the punch, grabbed Eliot’s arm and used his momentum to propel him out of the way. Eliot slammed into the dumpster, pushed off and spun round to face Quinn again.

Quinn in turn raised his fists, ready to fend off another outburst. “I’m sensing some residual anger.”

“If they’re not with you,” Eliot growled, “what are they doing here?” He raised his hands and began to circle Quinn.

Quinn didn’t miss a beat, stepping into the familiar dance. Though his voice remained neutral, there was a fierce look in his eyes. “That dirty cop you took down last week? Held a bit of a grudge. And had a couple of favors to call in.”

For a moment, Eliot seemed to drop his guard. Then, he narrowed his eyes and continued his prowl. “And how would you know something like that?”

Quinn grinned. “I have my sources.”

 

Eliot lunged at him, aiming a jab at his kidneys, but Quinn grabbed his wrist and forced the strike wide. Using the distraction, Eliot tried to punch him with his right hand, but Quinn was too quick, diverting Eliot’s fist up with his arm.

They stood like that for a moment, Quinn’s hand around Eliot’s wrist at his side, Eliot’s arm leaning against Quinn’s above their heads. They stared at each other, both slightly out of breath.

Then, Eliot attempted to headbutt him. Quinn was forced to step backwards, dropping their raised arms, but he didn’t let go of Eliot’s wrist, his strong grip instead tightening further.

Eliot immediately took advantage. He stepped forward, coming in close. He spun around on his front foot, placing his back to Quinn. In one quick move, he brought his left arm forward while jabbing his right elbow back. Quinn was caught off-balance, and Eliot felt his elbow connect to his midriff.

The hitter doubled over and Eliot yanked his hand free, but instead of pressing his advantage he stepped away.

 

Quinn took that moment to catch his breath, his hands on his knees. They left sweaty streaks on the grey fabric. His shirt was rumpled, and his shirttail had slipped out on his right. A couple of strands had escaped his half ponytail. He wiped them away from his eyes as he straightened up.

“Okay, all right, I’ll talk.” He rubbed his midriff. “Ugh, straight for the lungs again. You leave me breathless as always Eliot.”

Eliot glowered, the look that scared most people, but Quinn seemed unfazed.

“Look, I just happened to be scouting a new job when I heard a hit had been put out on a chef, and it caught my interest. Hearing the description, I thought I ought to check it out.”

“To take the job?”

“Maybe.” Quinn shrugged. “You were in my line of work once El, you know what it’s like.

Eliot bristled at the nickname. He still hadn’t relaxed his stance. “So what, you decided to take out the competition before you took out the target?”

“What? No! You still think I’m here to collect?” Quinn sounded honestly offended. “I just came round to  give you a heads-up. As a professional courtesy. Y'know, after the whole Dubenich business, I'd thought you'd be a little more welcoming."

Eliot unclenched his fists and lowered his hands. “You could’ve been a little clearer as to your intent.”

Quinn grinned his cheshire grin. “Where would be the fun in that?” He leaned forward and brought his hands behind his back.

 

Eliot reacted immediately, charging forward and pushing Quinn up against the wall. He held his right arm across Quinn's chest, his left hand balled into a fist at his side.

“Whoa! Whoa!” Quinn raised his hands in a placating gesture. “I was just tucking in my shirt.“

They were standing toe-to-toe now. Eliot could feel Quinn's warmth, hear his heavy breathing.

“Of course, if you’d rather I didn’t get dressed…”

Eliot huffed, looked away.

“That wasn’t a contradiction.” Quinn lowered his fingers around Eliot’s raised arm. He held his gaze when he looked up again. “You realize that’s two favors you owe me now? That business at the dam, and now saving your life from hired goons.”

“I coulda handled them.” Eliot grunted angrily, pressing in closer.

“I’m sure you could’ve.” Quinn purred, leaning down. They were close enough now to feel each other’s breath. 

 

It was Quinn who finally closed the distance, and they kissed a hungry, adrenaline-fueled kiss. Eliot still held his arm between them, but Quinn slowly pushed it down until Eliot snapped it away and wrapped both his arms around him, pressing them together like he wanted them to become one.

Quinn wrapped his arms around Eliot in turn, grabbing hold of his bandana to tip his head backwards and open his mouth to slip his tongue inside. Eliot leant into his embrace, leaning over backwards as Quinn dipped him.

Just as Quinn had initiated the kiss, he ended it. He yanked Eliot upright, but he didn't step back. He pressed his forehead against Eliot's, ran his hands down his arms until he could grip his elbows. Eliot rested his hands on his forearms.

"Eliot." Quinn whispered, his voice husky.

"What."

"I think I might want to call in a favor now."

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, so they totally just left the two unconscious people in that alley. Don't worry they got out of there as fast as possible when they regained consciousness.  
> Also Eliot never cleaned up that trashbag. Amy had to do it when she came in in the morning. She was pissed. But lets be fair Eliot was kinda busy... (clearing up the hit put out on his name with his (maybe)-boyfriend)


End file.
